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LIFE AND CHARACTER 



DRAWINGS BY 

W. T. SMEDLEY, A.N. A. 

MEMBER OF THE AMERICAN" WATER-COLOR SOCIETY 
SOCIETY OF AMERICAN' ARTISTS. AND 
NATIONAL ACADEMY OF DESIGN 

4. 

WITH ACCOMPANYING TEXT 
BY 

A. V. S. ANTHONY 




NEW YORK AND LONDON 

HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS 

1899 



* 



Copyright, 1S99, by Harper & Brothers. 

Ait rights reserved. 



WILLIAM T. SMEDLEY 



By ARTHUR HOEBER 

SO many qualities are requisite for an illustrator of the first class 
that it is not surprising few men arrive at the distinction. A 
command of the medium is of such paramount importance that 
without it none of the other qualities counts ; therefore we demand 
this as a sine qua non, and it must be present in no uncertain way ; 
then it is expected that the eye must be pleased in the novelty and 
individuality of the arrangement of line and mass ; in brief, the illus- 
trator may have shortcomings, but composition must not be one of 
them. Your painter is assisted by color which covers a multitude 
of artistic shortcomings; not so the illustrator; any derelictions in a 
composition direction and he is lost. He must have novelty, origi- 
nality, and persistent interest in the delineation of his own or other 
people's characters as he sets them down. When he shall have started 
in on the illustration of a story, he must stick to his types and fulfil, 
as best he may, the public's ideals of the character. 

Here then is a series of the problems all to be worked out in cold, 
uncompromising black and white, with regularity, not only when the 
mood serves, but at a fixed date, for the stars in their courses are no 
more regular than is the going to press of the great magazines and 
periodicals of which America has such a generous supply. And with 
all these requirements, the illustrator must be artistic, or, like the snuff- 
ing out of a candle, his reputation is gone and he drops into the ranks 
of has-beens. Nor do the requirements end here. Gainsborough 

5 



once said of Sir Joshua Reynolds, "Blank him, he is so various!" 
How various must be the illustrator, is only realized when one 
looks over a compilation of his work. Is it a novel of sentiment? 
— then must he be prepared to meet all the ideals of the feminine 
portion of the novel readers. Is there a great industrial exposition? 
— then must he attack all sorts and conditions of architecture, crowds, 
machinery, and the varied aspects of an enormously complicated affair. 
Perhaps it is war that holds the country — at once must the illus- 
trator put himself in sympathy with the clash of arms, the activity 
and confusion of camps, and the mighty combats of angry and frenzied 
human beings. And so on through the gamut. There is no phase 
of human emotions or happenings that he is not called upon, and 
almost at a moment's notice, to depict. No hint has the public at 
large of the brevity of his preparation, the difficulties of data, or the 
lack of preliminary familiarization with the theme. Is the picture 
good? does it meet with the public's idea of the event? These only 
are the important affairs for the illustrator's clientele; and as he meets 
them or fails in his efforts, so he is judged, for the average public 
is a severe critic. 

I know of few men who have come out of the ordeal so satis- 
factorily as has Mr. Smedley. Indeed, one may count his rivals on 
the fingers of one hand, and then, perhaps, have a finger or two to 
spare. There are younger men who flash meteorically through the 
magazine sky, burst with a good deal of brilliancy, and then — are 
lost. There are those who come with promise of the future, say their 
modest say for a while, and continue along the same level forever 
afterwards, never carrying out the pledges of youth. And there are 
still others who wander off into vagaries, into eccentricities, into weird 
meanderings, and finally entangle themselves into the meshes of aber- 
rations, incomprehensible save to the few admirers of the abnormal, 
so as to be quite outside the pale of intelligent understanding. Mr. 
Smedley has pursued a sane and dignified course, and through the 
years has shown a logical progress consequent upon intellectual 

6 



application and thoughtful attention to the larger principles of his 
art. To-day his work is rounded out, matured, and consistent in 
every way. His illustrations illustrate; his personages are real, 
tangible folk, with whom we enter into sympathy ; they are sui generis, 
for they are pregnant with meaning. 

It is no small accomplishment to have been working for a score 
of years, as Mr. Smedley has, and, at the end f to be as fresh and as 
genuine as he is to-day; to come after this length of time to one's 
labor with all the enthusiasm of the youth of twenty, and to evince 
a spontaneity that is positively infectious ; to delineate the, rough 
mountain men and women of William Black's Scotch highland 
country, and with equal facility to portray the refinement of Thomas 
Nelson Page's lovely Southern girls and patrician men, or to grasp 
the types made famous by Mary E. Wilkins in her New England 
studies, for these require a peculiar artistic temperament given to few. 
Yet Mr. Smedley's men from the land of the leal are not to be con- 
founded with those of any other place. They are brawny, sturdy, 
and of the soil; his Southern folk are never found north of Mason 
and Dixon's line, save, of course, en visite, and the New England 
spinsters have all the characteristics of that interesting race, or the 
reverse, according to the point of view. 

Mr. Smedley was born in Pennsylvania, in the town of West- 
chester. His beginnings in art were made at the Pennsylvania Acad- 
emy of Fine Arts, in Philadelphia, and were principally anatomical 
studies with Dr. W. W. Keen. Like most Americans, he had to look 
to the bread- winning side of life early, and thus he went to a firm of 
engravers, where for a while he cut on the block ; but his employers 
soon found that his pencil was of more use to them than his graver, 
and there followed mechanical drawings of all sorts for commercial 
purposes. At this time his evenings were given to the night-schools 
at the Academy. This was about 1877. A little book of illustra- 
tions came later ; it was of the homes of various members of the 
Jenks family, begun on a commission from the head of the clan, a 

7 



prosperous wool merchant of Philadelphia ; after this the artist came 
to New York. Naturally he gravitated to the house of Harper & 
Brothers, but at that time his work was not such as to inspire a be- 
lief in a brilliant future, save possibly to the young man himself. 
However, later the Harpers did give him something to try — nothing 
less than a Thanksgiving dinner at the Five Points House of In- 
dustry ; and that it was not altogether a fiasco is proved by the fact 
that he entered at once into intimate relations with the firm, which 
have continued uninterruptedly ever since. 

However, it did not suit the young man to sit quietly down ; 
the world was to be seen now, he thought, if ever, and he accepted a 
commission to make illustrations through the great Northwest, in the in- 
terests of Picturesque Canada, published under the patronage, and dur- 
ing the administration, of the Marquis of Lome. One of the first books 
in which his illustrations appeared was John Russell Young's Around 
the World with General Grant, published in 1879. The journey to the 
Northwest was undertaken about 1882, and a voyage, farther afield, to 
Australia, was begun in 1 885 for a work entitled Picturesque Australia. 
Mr. Smedley was gone a year, and came back by the way of India, 
travelling leisurely to Paris, where he installed himself in a studio, 
and went to work for a brief period in the atelier of Jean Paul 
Laurens, near the Madeleine. Evidently the academic was irksome 
to the young man, and yet, curiously enough, Mr. Smedley shows 
little if any evidence of a neglect of this sort of work. In point 
of fact, few men who have had so little preliminary training show 
so few traces of it, for his figures are drawn with an authority that 
seems to indicate, on the contrary, a severe school training, and I at- 
tribute it almost entirely, after acknowledging a natural predilection 
for his profession, to his course of study in anatomy for the brief 
year at the Philadelphia Academy. 

The artist's stay in Paris was accompanied by a close observa- 
tion of everything about him, and a careful study of the old masters 
in the galleries, together with an investigation of the methods of the 

8 



more modern men in the exhibitions. He went about with his 
eyes wide open ; he absorbed all of the best, and he painted a few 
pictures. One of these was hung in the Salon, and many sketch- 
books were filled with types of the Frenchman of all ranks and 
stations, as well as of the strangers within the gates of the world's 
gay capital. There were commissions, too, to be carried out for the 
Harpers, and there were bohemian evenings occasionally in the 
Ouartier with the men who were over from America. Charles 
Stanley Reinhart was in Paris then, established there in the same 
building, and Dagnan- Bouveret, the distinguished Frenchman, was 
a neighbor, fresh from his early triumphs at the Salon. Abbey 
occasionally ran over from London, and there was an artistic en- 
thusiasm in the air. After a year or so Mr. Smedley came back 
to New York and settled down to illustrative work, finding 
time to paint an occasional oil. The Society of American Artists 
had, in 1882, elected him to membership, and the American 
Water -Color Society had long since absorbed him in its fold. 
Indeed, in the medium of water - colors Mr. Smedley excelled 
to a high degree, and in 1890 he had been awarded the Evans' 
Prize for his remembered drawing of "The Thanksgiving Dinner," 
a work of unusual interest and cleverness — an advance, it may be 
imagined, on his first commission of the same subject from the 
publishing house. 

For seventeen years, then, Mr. Smedley has been one of the 
most prominent of American illustrators, and that means one of 
the most prominent workers in the world ; for our native men 
hold their own, and possibly a little more, in any artistic gather- 
ing. In pictures, make-up, and general typographical appearance, 
our publications, and in particular our magazines, are the admira- 
tion of Europe ; we have raised the standard of such work to 
a very high degree. It is no exaggeration to say that our three 
leading magazines are not equalled to-day, and a goodly share 

of that which has contributed to their success must be accred- 

9 



ited to the men who have drawn the pictures. Mr. Smedley 
has been paid the great compliment of imitation, that form of 
flattery that is possibly the least agreeable to the artist, notwith- 
standing the old adage; but though some of the tricks of hand- 
ling have been approximated, and occasionally there has been an 
approach to the more manifest and obvious manipulation of the 
medium, when it has come to the subtler qualities, and, indeed, 
those that give his work distinction, the point has been missed 
altogether. 

While Mr. Smedley has been a most prolific man, I could never 
see that his fecundity was at the expense of his artistic qualities ; 
for he seems to bring to each new thing the evidences of careful 
preparation, thought, and study. To be sure there are some sub- 
jects that lack the inspiration others give. There are writers 
who seem to breathe in every other line a wealth of subject-mat- 
ter, while there are others through whose work the artist must 
wade and delve to get even the faintest suggestion of theme. 
Mr. Smedley's men and women are to the life. He seems to me 
to have concealed about him a sort of mental camera with which 
to seize his types and retain them as he sees them abroad, on 
the streets, in the clubs, or on festive social occasions. It is one 
thing to pose a model, yet quite another to catch the unconscious 
but characteristic movement that is lost on the instant ; this, of 
course, is merely remarkable power of observation, a primary ne- 
cessity for an illustrator, and which Mr. Smedley possesses to an 
eminent degree. 

After all, however, it is as hard to analyze the secret of the artist's 
success and power as it is to define the limitations of humanity. 
No one may say how it is done, or why the figure under the touch 
of one man is full of meaning, grace, and delightful line, while 
that of another is heavy, labored, and unsatisfactory. To the layman 
it all seems like magic, as indeed it is. You may teach the student 
to get an understanding of form, of line, or of anatomy ; you may 

10 



train him faithfully in all the great underlying principles of his 
art, but if the heaven -given spark be not there, the labor is in 
vain. The man who rises above his fellows has something- of that 
inexplicable heritage without which the less fortunate worker, let 
him labor ever so hard, arrives only at the mediocre. 



ILLUSTRATIONS 



W. T. S medley Frontispiece 

Page 

Head - Piece to Illustrations 13 

Tail- Piece to Illustrations 

IV. T. Smedley in bis Country Studio ................... ij 

The Cliffs at Nabant 

On the North Shore 21 

The Cafe at Old Delmonicds * ... 21 

An Anxious Moment 95 

Cecil and Sylvia . . . 27 

"The Little Church Around the Corner" . 29 

Watching the Yacht Race off Marblebead 31 

A Nor' easier at Asbury Park * 33 

Cynthia Whitwtll and her Father ^5 

Rumors of War ^ 

Jack and Kitty ?n 



Easter Sunday on Fifth Avenue, New York 
Jack Lamont and Lawyer Burrowes . . . 



ILLUSTRATIONS 

Page 

Fifth Avenue, New York . 45 

Curtis Van Dyne and the Judge 47 

Boone Stallard 49 

Alice Bruce and Randolph Marshall 5/ 

Morro Castle 5^ 

Laura's Troubles Begin 55 

Jeff and Alan Lynde 57 

Gladys in Evidence 59 

Pet Dogs at the Doorway of an English Shop 67 

Christmas protecting Laura .» 63 

Virginia Reeves and the Pickets \ , 65 

■ 67 



Deer - Stalking 

A Horse -Show Supper at the Waldorf 69 

A London Bobby 7/ 

An Afternoon Spin on Riverside Drive 7^ 

Briseis and her Uncle 75 

The Old Guard's Ball 77 

The Guide's Mishap 79 

Kitty at the First Tee 81 

The Street - Crossing Sweeper 83 

Ruth, Teddy, and the Yankee Sentinel 85 

The First Day Out 87 

A Plantation Christmas "'Fore de War" 89 

Rupert and bis Portrait 91 

At the Flower - Show, Madison Square Garden 93 

From the Land of the Chrysanthemums 95 

In the Smoking - Room ^7 

The Toilet 99 

At the Private View 10/ 



1 1 



ILLUSTRATIONS 

Page 

After the Matinee 103 

Art Students /05 

Jack and Mr. Fletcher 107 

Mother and Child 109 

Youth and Age /// 

Bayou Teche 113 

At the Races 7/5 

In the Sear and Yellow Leaf 1/7 

Exterior of Mr. S medley 's Country Studio up 

The Casino at Narragausett Pier 120 




The Cliffs at Nahant 



THIS place was famous in the olden time as one of the favorite 
haunts of the great sea-serpent. As early as 1638, soon after 
the settlement of Boston, John Josselyn Gent — we must believe 
him, because he signed himself "Gent" — used to see the serpent "quoiled 
up on a rock " at Cape Ann, " a sunning of hisself," he might have 
added. But he was more often seen in this neighborhood, where he dis- 
ported his sinuosity as late as 18 17, since which time he appears to 
have been a homeless wanderer, and to have carried his " shaggy head 
and glittering eye " to other parts. 

Looking north, we see the whole sweep of Swampscott Bay, with 
Egg Rock and its light-house, and the fishing-smacks dotting the horizon 
beyond, and the towns of Lynn and Swampscott ; to the south we have 
Boston, and Boston harbor, with its islands, and a view of Blue Hills in 
the distance ; and to the east, the open Atlantic. 

The peninsula is beautiful in every respect, with its fine trees, 
beaches, and cliffs, and " Spouting Rock," " Pulpit Rock," " Castle Rock," 
and others, about which the waves are ever dashing picturesquely. 

This place would afford Mr. Laurence Hutton an opportunity for 
a " Literary Landmark " booklet, for here it was that Prescott worked 
on his "Ferdinand and Isabella" and the "Conquest of Mexico," Motley 
began his " Dutch Republic," and Longfellow wrote a good part of 
" Hiawatha." Here, also, lived Alexander Agassiz in the summer months, 
and it is only natural to suppose that much of his finest work was 
done where he could be alone with nature and his thoughts. And in 
a little house near the cliffs Mrs. Annie Johnson, although not much 
known to fame, used to sing her local lyrics. 



is 



On the North Shore 



ON no part of the whole sea- coast of our country has Nature 
spread her beauties with so lavish a hand as along the New 
England coast from Nahant to Eastport, and in no section are 
so many delightful aspects blended as along the " North Shore," which 
may be said to embrace the water-line from Nahant to Gloucester and 
beyond. For years Nahant was the favorite resort of the select few of 
the wealthy Bostonians. Being a little peninsula, jutting out into the 
Atlantic Ocean, the breezes fanned it on the hottest days, and so marked 
was the difference in the temperature of the air from that of the sur- 
rounding country that it used to be called " Cold Roast Boston." But 
the space was circumscribed, and as the population and the wealth of 
the East increased, the summer-houses began to spread to the north- 
ward, and elegant and commodious buildings sprang up in Swampscott ; 
then, reaching farther north to Beverly and Beverly Farms, the course 
was continued to Manchester- by- the- Sea, Pride's Crossing, and Mag- 
nolia. One may drive from Boston to Gloucester, over the most perfect 
roads for carriage or bicycle, so embowered in trees that only on short 
stretches does the sun trouble one on the hottest days, while through 
openings in the woods one gets frequent glimpses of the ocean. The 
summer afternoons and evenings are delightful, and such groups as are 
here pictured may be seen in a dozen places. While the ultra- fashion- 
able go to Mount Desert, and another set to Old Orchard Beach — the 
" Asbury Park" of the East — the discriminating lover of nature and 
good company pins his faith to the " North Shore," with its beautiful 
roads, its charming beaches, its rocks, and trees reaching to the ocean's 
edge, and its bracing, balmy air. 



20 



The Cafe at Old Delmonicds 



THIS cafe, which was the haunt of so many of the bons vivants, is 
now a dream of the past. It is a question if another such 
gathering-place will be found in our generation. Our picture is 
an illustration for one of Mr. Brander Matthews's "Vignettes of Man- 
hattan." Bob White meets on the street, one cold autumn day, his old 
college chum Johnny Carroll, whom ill-fortune had apparently marked 
for its own, and, despite his seedy appearance, invites his friend to 
share a Thanksgiving dinner with him at Delmonico's. " Then take me 
to the cafe'," said Carroll ; " I can stand the men, I think, but I am not 
in shape to go into the restaurant, where the women are." 

For years this restaurant, situated on the corner of Twenty-sixth 
Street, Fifth Avenue, and Broadway, was one of the finest and most 
famous to be found in the world. Around its tables used to gather the 
well-to-do-men about town, and scattered among them one would find 
the brightest and wittiest in the land in every department of art and 
literature, as well as the other professions. The notable stranger within 
our gates was rarely permitted to depart without being the recipient 
of a dinner given here in his honor by his friends. 



22 



An Anxious Moment 



TO lovers of the rod and reel this picture will particularly appeal. 
The little speckled beauty seems fairly hooked, but there is still 
fight in him, and the tackle is light and fragile, and there is no 
telling how many tangled roots and sharp - edged rocks may not lie 
directly beneath him when he takes his next desperate plunge. But, 
whether landed or lost, our fisherman has had the supreme delight of 
skilfully playing his fish, his exercise, and an hour or more, perhaps, with 
Mother Nature in one of her most fascinating moods. For it is the 
habit of the trout to linger in the quiet little pools, where the overhang- 
ing branches afford him grateful shade from the heat of the glaring sun. 
And he thrives best amidst the most beautiful surroundings, and as 
your true fisherman is a lover of nature, the added charm of the land- 
scape gives an accent to the sport. Old Izaak Walton used to dwell 
as fondly over the habitat of the fish as over the fish itself ; and 
W. C. Prime, in his "Among the Northern Hills," speaks of one of his 
favorite nooks as follows : " There are spots of ideal beauty all along 
the stream, where I have been accustomed to linger, and forget, and 
remember. . . . Then it spreads over a wider bed of cobble-stones, mak- 
ing as it descends two superb curves of beauty." Speaking of a fisher- 
man whom he watched one day, the same writer says : " Passing his rod 
to the left hand, he began to use the reel with judgment, and the fish 
came nearer. Then he rushed, and the fingers left the reel to run, and 
the rod bowed a little down to the stream to ease the strain, and I saw 
his finger press the line against the rod to make it drag more heavily. 
So the fish did not go into the swift water below the pool, but, yielding 
to the persuasion of the rod, turned and gave it up." This might have 
been written as a description of our picture. 



24 



Cecil and Sylvia 



OUR picture represents the outcome of an accident to Cecil Os- 
borne's bicycle. 
Nowhere in the country is to be found finer travelling for 
the wheelman than through the southern New England States, where 
the roads are generally so fine; and in many places near the larger towns 
they may be said to be absolutely perfect, with the elm and other trees 
lining the wayside, affording shady resting-places after long spins. 

Yet, when least expected, the wheel will sometimes develop kinks, 
and the total depravity of inanimate things can never be accounted for, be 
they "'99 models" or collar-buttons. In the case of Mr. Osborne's mishap, 
it became necessary for him to stop the passing coach, which looks as if 
it might be a specimen of the " Concord " of other days, once thought 
to be the ideal vehicle for long journeys. Depositing his wheel on top, 
he enters the coach and finds a fair occupant, to whom, after the socia- 
ble manner of all wheelmen, he straightway makes himself agreeable, 
and, according to Miss Sarah Barnwell Elliot's account in " Miss Ann's 
Victory," " The ride seemed shorter after this, and great was Miss Miller's 
astonishment when Osborne helped Sylvia out of the stage and, loaded 
down with her traps, walked with her to the door." 

Now at Miss Miller's the social circle had had a meeting, which 
was just breaking up when Sylvia arrived. That a strange man should 
be escorting Sylvia produced a flutter that was indescribable. The cir- 
cle had been accustomed to having things done with procrastinating 
deliberation and much preliminary gossip. Knobhill was some such 
place as that where Old Josh died, after a prolonged illness, and a 
friend from a neighboring village, asking if his death was not very sud- 
den, was answered, " Yes, kinder suddin fer him." And this affair was 
much too sudden for the social circle at Miss Miller's; but, if you may 
believe Miss Elliot, Sylvia and Osborne are now doing the " century " 
on a matrimonial tandem. 



20 



" The Little Church Around the Corner " 

i 

AN ACTOR'S FUNERAL 

IT may be questioned if there is a religious edifice in the country 
more widely known, and around which is centred so much genu- 
ine interest as in " The Little Church Around the Corner," the 
congregation of which was for so many years presided over by the 
Reverend George H. Houghton, a gentleman of the broadest humanity 
and an exemplar of the widest Christian charity. He knew no creed 
or sect when mourning friends asked his services in their bereavements; 
and during his life there were few actors or actresses, of whatever faith, 
or lack of it, who died in New York, who were not carried to their final 
resting-places through the portals of this picturesque little church, which 
is situated on Twenty-ninth Street, near Fifth Avenue, New York city. 
Although the pastor is now gone, one looks back, when passing, with 
the thought that truly this was a sanctuary wherein the disciple followed 
the mandate of the Master, and preached His word of " Peace on earth 
and good will towards men." 



28 



Watching the Tacht 

Race off Marblehead 



MARBLE HEAD is the home of the New England and Co- 
rinthian Yacht Clubs, and from here the Club races are 
started in the autumn months. From the high, rocky cliffs 
the eye takes in the whole North Shore as far as Cape Ann, and to the 
southward the whole of Boston Bay to Minot's Ledge Light. With a 
good glass, in favorable weather, the races can be followed from start to 
finish. 

This old town, from the early settlers of which many of the finest 
families of the commonwealth of Massachusetts sprang, was once one 
of the important seaports of the New England coast. Its haunts and 
legends have ever been dear to the hearts of the New England poets. 
Here was the Devereaux Mansion, the ample fireplace of which, piled 
with the wreckage of old ships, inspired Longfellow's " Driftwood." And 
here was the home of Lucy Larcom's 

" Poor lone Hannah, sitting at the window binding shoes," 

a poem that proved a factory girl to be one of the literary elect. Whit- 
tier, too, sang the song of 

" Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart, 
Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart 
By the women of Marblehead." 

Although much of the glory of the place is a thing of the past, 
nature has still some nooks here to gladden the hearts of her lovers. 



3° 



A Nofeaster at Asbury Park 



ALTHOUGH the Cosmopolitan cannot be said to strongly resemble 
/ \ the much-admired bivalve whose reputed home is at "Blue Point, 
in one respect his dates are the same, and it would be equally use- 
less to rake his beds, with any prospects of success, in any of the months 
of the year without an "r" in them. True it is that the canny expert in 
digging will occasionally find a stray specimen that will amply reward 
his labor, but from the first of May until the last of August they are not 
quoted on the social market. But whether it is owing to climatic changes 
or to the inefficiency of the Weather Bureau, it has come to pass that the 
"lotus-eater," nowadays, frequently prolongs his summer outing into Sep- 
tember, when we have, in this latitude, such balmy, delightful days. 

The New Jersey coast, from its convenient proximity to New York, 
holds its sojourner well into the autumn. Asbury Park is most fortunate 
in this respect, and if you be one of the elect who make this resort a tem- 
porary home, or are only a "looker-on in Vienna," you will find an abun- 
dance of incident there of one sort or another to amuse and entertain. 
When the nor'easters blow, as they are very apt to do about the middle of 
September, it is an even chance on the board walk at Asbury whether you 
are to have a sun or a water bath. One of the amusements of the old- 
stagers is to secure a coigne of vantage and watch for the mystical seventh 
wave, which comes with overwhelming power and, breaking against the 
embankment, dashes high over the wall, drenching the unwary, and, as it 
rises into the air, it is a beautiful sight to see the spray drifting swiftly to 
leeward, carrying tiny rainbows, imprisoned, in its flight. Our picture rep- 
resents one of these occasions, which are as keenly enjoyed as are the re- 
nowned camp-meetings which attract such multitudes. 



3 2 



i 



Cynthia IVhitwell and her Father 



THERE still exists in the New England States a strain of the 
old stock that conquered the wilderness. You find it in the 
remote country districts, where existence is one long struggle to 
obtain the barest necessities of life, where culture and refinement are 
almost unknown, but where the sturdy old Puritan ideas of the pro- 
prieties may be still met with. The hard, irresponsive soil never yields 
any premium on labor. The story of the man who went west to better 
his fortune, and after ten years boasted that " he came there without a 
dollar and had held his own ever since," might be said to describe the 
condition of some of the farmers in the most unfavored sections of the 
hilly districts. But there is an uprightness of character inherent in the 
people that adversity cannot crush. They are proud and self-reliant, and 
need only opportunity to develop. Of some such stock was Cynthia 
Whitwell and her father. Cynthia's faithless lover had yielded to the 
charms of a city belle; so, with her spirits somewhat crushed, she went 
to her father's house for comfort. Mr. W. D. Howells, in "The Land- 
lord at Lion's Head," thus describes the incident : 

" He sat down with his hat on, as his absent-minded habit was, 
and he now braced his knees against the edge of the table. Cynthia 
sat across it from him, with her head drooped over it, drawing vague 
figures on the board with her fingers. 'What are you goin' to do?' 
" ' I don't know,' she answered. 

" ' I guess you don't quite realize it yet,' her father suggested 
tenderly. ' Well, I don't want to hurry you any. Take your time.' 
"'I guess I realize it,' said the girl." 

And she did, and we are delighted to know that she finally came 
to her own, as we are told by Mr. Howells, with that charming, artistic 
repression of which he is a past- master. 



34 



Rumors of IV ar 



PICTURES treating the sterner realities of life have long been 
favorite subjects of the painters. We all recall the famous paint- 
ing of Sir John Everett Millais' "The Black Brunswicker," one 
of a series of four, which depicts the parting between the young soldier 
and his lady-love on the eve of his departure for Waterloo. The senti- 
ment of this picture appealed so strongly to the public that thousands 
of reproductions in the form of engravings and photographs have been 
sold in England and on the Continent, and also in this country. An- 
other famous picture of the same general character, but on different 
lines, is the superb painting by Zamacois, entitled " The Education of 
a Prince." In this we see the prince rolling wooden balls at some toy 
soldiers which are placed at the farther end of a rug, while sycophantic 
courtiers, with simulated interest and attention, are watching the little 
fellow playing at war. In the same vein, but on still different lines, is 
Mr. S medley's picture. The incident he portrays may have occurred 
just after the sinking of the Maine in Havana harbor. The inevitable 
is in the air, and the anxious attention of the couple is possibly in regard 
to a father, brother, or cousin, who may have received his notice, or, 
perhaps, the husband who holds the newspaper may be reading the news 
that tells him orders are imminent for him to join his regiment or ship. 
Meanwhile, with all the unknown possibilities in their thoughts, the fond 
parents forget for the moment the little son who plays with his soldiers 
without receiving the usual words of approbation. It is a picture of a 
happy home, which the first note of war may transform into one of 
sorrow and apprehension. 



36 



Jack and Kitty 



THE summer girl of the present day has a new vantage-ground 
on which she can show her most captivating side. Time was 
when she needed a sea-shore or a mountain resort; a dream of 
fluttering beauty in white muslin, a moonlight night and a fan ; but, 
as the young man of the period became more athletic, her adaptability 
showed itself in being equal to the requirements. Years ago the story 
used to be told of a "Paste Jewel" from the Emerald Isle, who, in 
writing home, described the American girl as " being high in bone and 
low in flesh, and about the color of a duck's fut." What would our 
Milesian chronicler say about our rosy-cheeked beauty now? With her 
stately carriage and her lithesome figure, she is without a peer. 

The poet Alfred B. Street used to go to the top of the Catskills, 
" where he could breathe some of the Almighty's unappropriated air." 
Our summer girl gets the very next best quality of ozone when she is 
whirling along country roads on her bicycle, or, better still, when she is 
on the golf field. In her out-of-door costume she can display her most 
artistic taste in the way of personal adornment, and show her subtle 
gracefulness to the most killing advantage. The inevitable, of course, 
happens. Mr. Gustav Kobbe describes one instance in his story, 
" Colonel Bogie." Jack and Kitty had been playing golf, and Jack was 
troubled with some heartburnings about a supposed rival, Colonel Bogie, 
and this was the result: Kitty said: "There has been a Colonel Bogie 
since the year one of golf. The ' bogie ' score for Matinicock is eighty- 
one, and when we start to do better we're playing against ' Colonel 
Bogie.' He's an imaginary character — an ideal golfer — like yourself." . , . 
"That night I sat on the dunes with Kitty and watched the moon rise." 



38 



Easter Sunday on Fifth Avenue, New T irk 



EASTER is a festival season which has been observed from the 
earliest time by both Jew and Gentile. It is held sacred by 
Christians in commemoration of the resurrection of our Saviour, 
and is coincident with the Passover of the Hebrew Church, in thanks- 
giving for their deliverance from the sword of the Destroying Angel in 
the old Egyptian clays. With Christians it has always been a sort of 
movable feast, occurring sometimes in March and sometimes in April. 
Pius I., about 147, issued a decretal fixing the date of its observance, but 
it was not until 541 that the Fourth Council of Orleans ordained that it 
should be celebrated on the same day by all Christians; and even then, 
owing to the disparity between the Old and New Style of computation 
of time, there were different dates for its observance. In 1752 it was 
decided that the ceremony should occur on the 14th day after the cal- 
endar moon, which is not our heavenly moon, but one that has been set 
up by the ecclesiastics. 

On Easter, the Pope at Rome, from his balcony, at mid -day pro- 
nounces a blessing upon the whole world. At night, St. Peter's is 
illuminated. 

The Anglo-Saxons celebrated the day in honor of Eostre, the 
goddess of love and spring, whose natal month was April, when all 
nature is in bloom. 

In this country the churches are generally decorated with flowers, 
among which the Easter lily holds a prominent place, and our young 
lassies, and some of the old ones, too, come out in fresh and radiant 
colors that are quite in touch with all living things, which are rejoicing 
that the dreary days of winter are past. Easter Sunday on Fifth 
Avenue near St. Thomas's Church, the portal of which is seen on the 
right in our picture, is a day long to be remembered. It is a sort of 
moving bouquet of humanity. 



40 



Jack Lamont and Lawyer Burrowes 



IN Mr. Julian Ralph's "Angel in a Web," he pictures a character, 
much more common than it should be, of a young gentleman of 
leisure without any visible means of support, whose necessities 
have driven him to a pass where it becomes a question of work or crime. 
An old uncle lies at the point of death, and Jack, fearing that he may 
be cut off with a shilling, resolves to get possession of the will, and, if 
need be, to destroy it. He induces an innocent young girl to go into 
the room of the dying man and get the key of the safe, which is always 
placed on the table near the old man's bedside. Fortunately her mission 
fails, owing to the vigilance of a trusty servant. Meanwhile another 
scene takes place in the same house, which is thus described by Mr. 
Ralph : 

" Hardly had the housekeeper had time to reach the Colonel's room, 
when Jack Lamont sauntered into the dining-room, with a bold assump- 
tion of nonchalance, and bade Mr. Burrowes good- morning. 

" The lawyer asked him sharply how he came there. He replied 
that he had let himself in with his own key, and asked who had a better 
right. He added that he was about to go to his home in the city, and, 
as he had left some things in the house, he came, on his last visit, to take 
them away. Besides, he had also wanted to see Mr. Burrowes, and, being 
told at the gate that he was not to be admitted any more, he had taken 
the liberty to vault over the wall and admit himself. He wanted to know 
definitely, he said, whether his uncle intended to leave him an annuity, 
or a present, or nothing at all. 

" ' Well, sir,' said the lawyer, ' I tried to make your position clear to 
you yesterday. If I failed, then there is nothing for me to do but to put 
your case in your uncle's exact words : " You will get nothing," he told 
me, " if you leave this neighborhood. If you remain, you may get a term 
in prison." 



42 



Fifth Avenue, New Tork 




ITHIN the memory of many comparatively young New- 
Yorkers, Depau Row, on Bleecker Street, was the most pala- 
tial mansion, or series of mansions, in the city, and when 



our country cousins came to town they went there first to feast their 
eyes on the outside splendor of the structure. It is now the home of 
a portion of that polyglot European crowd which has kindly adopted us. 

Fourteenth Street became the fashion next, and then the "Avenue." 
Our view is on Fifth Avenue looking north towards the southern en- 
trance to Central Park. The building in the distance, on the left, is 
the residence of Mr. Cornelius Vanderbilt, one of the finest and most 
expensive in the city, occupying the space on the Avenue between Fifty- 
seventh and Fifty-eighth Streets. Beyond, one gets a glimpse of the Park. 

Here, and on the side - streets in the neighborhood, live many of 
the most wealthy of our merchants and professional men, and on fine, 
sunny afternoons one may see an array of fashion and beauty that can- 
not be matched elsewhere ; for our women not only know how to dress, 
but they are keenly alive to the styles that are most becoming to them, 
and, better than all, they have the knack of carrying their clothes in a 
manner that makes the ensemble a delight to the eye. And their color 
sense is so fine, and they are so handsome, that one with an artistic 
perception has much the same feeling that he gets in his first glance 
at a gallery of choice pictures. While all this is passing on the side- 
walk, hundreds of the finest appointed carriages are carrying their fair 
occupants to the Park or to afternoon teas. This scene is repeated 
every fair week-day until the summer exodus to Stockbridge, Lenox, 
or Newport. Then the Avenue is deserted. 



44 



Curtis Van Dyne and the Judge 



IN politics one meets with strange bedfellows, and in no city does one 
find such anomalies as in New York. To whichever party you belong, 
you see, if you are an observing man, a curious mixture of all that is 
good and bad in the bosses and their adherents. In municipal matters, 
where no great, vital principles are involved, and only the well-ordered con- 
ditions of our daily life should be considered, we have a state of things that 
for a moment would not be tolerated in the administration of any corpora- 
tion or large business house. That the hoi polloi should look upon the 
city treasury as a grab-bag, from which the biggest, coarsest hand may drag 
forth the most booty, is not to be wondered at, as they have not, by birth or 
education, what Mr. Jack Hopkins calls "a nice sense of honor"; but we 
look with wonderment, at times, at the names of reputable men allied to the 
list of plunderers. Van Dyne was one of these. He had not succeeded in 
his law practice, but he was one of the cultured class, so-called, and the dis- 
trict leaders looked to him to lend an air of respectability to their schemes, 
and in a moment of weakness he had almost yielded. Judge Jerningham 
heard of his contemplated alliance with the organization, and, meeting him, 
discussed the situation: " If you join the organization, if you are hail-fellow- 
well-met with all the Pat McCanns in the city," retorted the Judge, sternly, 
" if you sink to that level, you would certainly leave your children some- 
thing very different from what your father left you." A moment later he 
meets the district leader on the steps of the City Hall, and Mr. Brander 
Matthews, in his story " On the Steps of the City Hall," thus describes his 
revulsion of feeling: "Van Dyne drew back instinctively. Never before 
had Pat McCann's high hat seemed so shiny or Pat McCann's coat so 
very furry." His vernacular was too much of a dose. It was like that of 
a high city official who recently excused himself for not taking action 
against a certain journal by saying: "I'm not the feller to stack up against 
the newspapers," a most felicitous combination of Bowery slang and thieves' 
jargon. And this "feller" is the sort of man who advocates the destruction 
of the New York City Hall — because there is boodle in it — an edifice that 
is rightly regarded by architects as one of the finest examples of its kind 
in the country. 

4 6 



Boone Stallard 



THE gift of oratory, like the sense of color, is something that cannot be 
taught, except to a very limited extent; it must be born in one, and 
whoever has it must surely make his mark. The South and West, 
in times past, produced some notable speakers, such as Randolph, Calhoun, 
Douglas, and Henry Clay, a Kentuckian, as was Stallard, Mr. John Fox's 
hero in his novel " The Kentuckians." How long Stallard's power might 
have lain dormant is a question, but the easy generalities of a fellow-mem- 
ber of the Legislature touched a chord in his nature that roused him. His 
opportunity had come. He was an unknown quantity in the House, but, 
being stung by the injustice of the remarks of the previous speaker, he 
threw his whole being into the fight, and Mr. Fox thus describes the in- 
cident : 

" No reason was apparent, but at the sound of his voice the House 
turned towards him with the silence of premonition. One by one the 
wrinkles came into the Speaker's strong, placid face. Marshall, quick to 
feel merit and generous to grant it, had straightened in his chair. The old 
Governor, goin^ out, was halted by the voice at the door. And one, who 
himself loved the Governor's daughter, remembered long afterwards that 
she leaned suddenly towards the man, with her eyes wide and her face quite 
tense with absorption. The secret was in more than his simple bigness, 
in more than his massive head and heavy hair, in more, even, than in the ex- 
traordinary voice that came from him. It was an electric recognition of 
force — the force with which Nature does her heavy work under the earth 
and in the clouds; and here and there an old member knew that a prophet 
was among them." 

Here was a case where opportunity and a God-given ability went hand 
in hand. We can all of us recall an instance in the late war, where, in other 
lines, the same result was obtained. 



4 8 



1 



Alice Bruce and Randolph Marshall 



IT was Marshall who roused in Stallard (who is shown on the preceding 
page) a "storm of feeling that threatened to engulf his brain." Not 
that Marshall was aggressive or vindictive, he was simply too narrow, 
but he had a charm of manner that is described by Mr. Fox as follows: 

"It was oratory that one hears rarely now, even in the South. There 
was an old-fashioned pitch to a vibrant voice, the fire of strong feeling in 
the fearless eye, an old-fashioned grace and dignity of manner, and a dash 
that his high color showed to be not wholly natural. The speech was old- 
fashioned, emotional, the sentences full, swinging, poetic, rich with imagery 
and classical allusion. And always — in voice, eye, bearing, and gesture — 
was there gallant consciousness of the gallery behind. More than once 
his eyes swept the curve of it; and when he came to pay his unfailing trib- 
ute to the women of his land, he turned quite around, until his back was 
upon the Speaker and his uplifted face straight towards the Governor's 
daughter." 

Unquestionably Marshall was clever and cultured, with all the easy, 
graceful polish of a man of the world; so when, later, a company had 
gathered in the evening at the Governor's house, we are not surprised to 
read that, as Alice seated herself to sing, "Marshall went at once to the 
piano to select a song for her. He could both sing and play, but he would 
rarely do either. Music and art, for men at least, are yet in serious disfavor 
through the South, and it is not wise for a man with a serious purpose of 
law or politics before him to show facility in light accomplishments." Mean- 
while, during the evening, "when Alice sang, Stallard's eyes never left her 
face." And the manner in which Stallard worked out his destiny is well 
worth the reading. 



5° 



Morro Castle 



FTER peace was concluded with Spain, the managers of one of our 



terest on the sea-coasts of Cuba and Puerto Rico. Among other 
places visited was the harbor of Santiago, made ever memorable by the 
gallant exploit of Lieutenant Hobson in sinking the Merrimac at the 
mouth of the harbor to "bottle up" Cervera's fleet. That the desired object 
was not accomplished detracts nothing from the heroic character of the act. 
One of the principal objects of interest in the neighborhood was Morro 
Castle, on the eastern highland at the entrance to the harbor, where Hob- 
son was imprisoned after his capture, and of which Admiral Sampson was 
duly notified. As the destruction or disablement of this strong fortification 
was necessary before the harbor could be entered by our vessels, inasmuch 
as a plunging fire from its guns, two or three hundred feet above the nar- 
row entrance, would in all probability annihilate our ships, the courtly 
descendants of the hidalgos of Spain, or such pinchbeck imitations of them 
as were in command, placed our valiant sailor-boy in one of the dungeons 
of the fortress, the destruction of which meant death to him. This was 
the last and most characteristic act of a people once great, who held at one 
time all of the Antilles and a good portion of North and South America; 
and who, by lack of capacity and ruthless cupidity, roused one section after 
another, until their possessions on this side of the globe were reduced to the 
two islands which have just been released from thraldom. When the Stars 
and Stripes were raised over this castle, the last vestige of Spanish power 
disappeared from the Western Hemisphere. 

The door shown on the right of the picture is the entrance to the 
dungeon in which Hobson was confined, and it will always be an object 
of interest to future sight- seers on the island. 




ocean greyhounds organized an excursion to various points of in- 



Laura s Troubles Begin 



IN "An Angel in a Web" Mr. Julian Ralph tells the old, old story, 
made ever new by graceful handling, of the irony of fate that at times 
besets the lives of many an innocent one. An ill-assorted marriage, 
a faithless husband, and then the inevitable struggle of a proud, well-born 
woman to keep herself and daughter from the fangs of the wolf which 
seems ever at the door. From bad to worse the hapless pair finally drift 
to the shelter of a laborer's house in the immediate vicinity of the rich 
relatives of the mother, the identity of whom is quite unknown to the 
daughter. The mother, broken in spirit, at last becomes broken in mind, 
and poor Laura, left to her own resources, is driven from the house of the 
drunken woman with whom she lodged. A worthless cur, Bill Heintz, 
knowing her to be without money and believing her to be without friends, 
looks upon her with covetous eyes. He was bragging to some of his 
fellow-hoodlums of his alleged conquest, when, "As he spoke, Laura Balm 
turned a near corner and approached the group with a quick, firm step. 
Her slender, muscular body, outlined with the promising curves of girl- 
hood, was draped with a gown which fitted her as a deer is fitted by its fur. 
She held herself rigidly erect, her head was high, and in her blue eyes no 
more than in her gait was there any hint of misgiving." This is the girl 
to whom Heintz spoke as follows: "I jest said how — er — I reckoned 
we ought to be — er — pardners. . . . Well, look-a-here," he said, after a 
long pause, "we can drift along together, and — that is — I mean — and let 
me find work — for you to earn money — you see, and — " 

Surely Laura's troubles had really begun, but there is a little angel 
who sits up aloft who is watching over others besides "Poor Jack." 



54 



Jeff and Alan Lynde 



JEFF DURGIN, the son of Mr. Howells's "Landlord at Lion's Head," 
was born up among- the New England hills, and his out-of-door 
life had so developed his frame and hardened his muscles that 
physically he was a fine specimen of a man ; and while the attrition con- 
sequent upon his college course had somewhat refined him, he still had 
an uncouthness of manner and speech that caused his Harvard friends 
and associates to dub him a "jay." Among his other acquaintances was 
Alan Lynde, a member of one of the old "Back Bay" families, who, while 
fraternizing with him as a man, resented his assumption of social equality, 
and particularly objected to his rather open attention to his sister, Miss 
Lynde, who had certainly encouraged Jeff, as his hardihood and eccen- 
tricities rather amused her. All three had attended the Commencement 
exercises on the College Green, and Lynde was much disturbed that his 
exclusive friends should have witnessed the apparently cordial relations 
between the "jay" and his sister. Jeff had in a measure distinguished 
himself in the scramble for the flowers about the tree, and had secured 
a bunch which he intended to present to Miss Lynde as a mark of his 
favor. The day had ended not quite to his liking, so as a child of nature 
he sought relief in physical exercise. Arraying himself in his walking- 
costume, he started for a long spin, as was his custom. He soon left the 
city of Cambridge behind him, and, while striding along the road, with 
his thoughts in somewhat of a tangle, he was brought to himself rather 
sharply by receiving a stinging cut on the face from a driving -whip 
wielded by Alan Lynde, who came up behind him in his dog- cart and 
struck him as he dashed by. It was not a nice thing for a member of 
one of the first families to do; in fact, we are strongly inclined to think 
that it would have been rather disgraceful if done by a meaner member 
of one of the second families ; and, later, Mr. Lynde had reason to regret 
his cowardly act. 

56 



Gladys in Evidence 



THE interesting subject of the manner of the birth and development 
of intelligence in children is engaging the attention of some scientists 
on both sides of the Atlantic. How much is due to environment and 
how much to heredity is a question. The old painters used to typify the 
birth of the soul — or mind — by painting the figure of a beautiful young 
girl (Psyche) intently watching the fluttering of a butterfly. But how or 
whence comes the intelligence that enables the little mind to realize its 
surrounding ? 

In "David Copperfield" Mr. Dickens tells of a visit by Mr. Murdstone 
to a friend, with little David, to whose mother he was about to be married, 
and David relates the interview. 

'"What! Bewitching Mrs. Copperfield's encumbrance?' cried the gen- 
tleman. 'The pretty little widow?' 

"'Quinion,' said Murdstone, 'take care, if you please. Somebody's 
sharp !' 

"'Who is?' asked the gentleman, laughing. 
" I looked up quickly, being curious to know. 
"'Only Brooks of Sheffield,' said Murdstone. 

" I was quite relieved to find it was only Brooks of Sheffield, for at first 
I thought it was I." 

Now little Gladys, in Marguerite Merrington's "The Bishop's Memory," 
would have grasped the situation at once. She had been taking lessons on 
the bicycle, and her governess was taught also, in order that she might ac- 
company the children on their rides, and Gladys, speaking of them, tells her 
mother that "Waters is as slow as slow. I'm not slow. There is nothing 
I can't learn." 

"Don't be conceited, Gladys," said her mother. "I wonder why Miss 
Waters doesn't teach you not to be conceited." Then, speaking across the 
child to a friend, "Bright," she remarked — "bright as a new dollar." 

Bright she was, and we really cannot quarrel with the pertness of the 
child, but we are disposed to think that a few lessons in a training-school 
might benefit the mother. The enfant terrible is largely the product of 
environment as well as of heredity. 

58 



Pet Dogs at the Doorway of an English Shop 



DOGS have been pets since the trouble in the Garden of Eden, we 
believe (if they were domesticated at that time), and, as faithful 
followers and friends of humanity, they have been favorite themes 
for poet and painter from the earliest period. In our younger days we 
used to hang lovingly over the pictures of the magnificent St. Bernard 
dogs that were buffeting their way through the howling snow-storms in 
the Alps, with little kegs of brandy or liqueur fastened about their necks, 
seeking for belated, frost-bitten travellers. Then came " Rab and his 
Friends," which made a Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals 
of us before the one with so many initials had its first meeting. And we 
also enjoyed the self-sacrificing collie, which knew instinctively that sheep 
had no sense, and so would "round them up" on the approach of a Scottish 
blizzard, and never leave them until they were safely sheltered. And, later, 
we sympathized with Little Billie, in "Trilby," when, racked with contend- 
ing emotions, he took Tray on a walk with him to the sea- shore and un- 
burdened his heart to him. And how admirably the dog responded! for 
Du Maurier says that when Little Billie tenderly spoke the name of Alice, 
"Tray uttered a soft, cooing, nasal croon in his head register, though he was 
a barytone dog by nature, with portentous warlike chest-notes of the jingo 
order." Of course, Tray took in the situation. 

Mr. Ralph speaks of other kinds of dogs in his " English Character- 
istics." Our picture shows the door-way of a fashionable shop in London. 
Here, he says, "the collection of pet dogs left at the door- ways of the big 
stores, chained up and cared for by porters in gold lace while the dogs' 
mistresses are in-doors, makes one of the sights of the town." 



60 



Christmas Protecting Laura 



IN one of our previous pictures we had Laura Balm and Bill Heintz. 
Then Laura had her first inkling of the pitfalls that beset her, followed 
now by that which gave her a feeling of terror. Pursuing his course, 
Bill said, "'Well, I'm — ' thrusting his bestial face almost against hers, 
nastily, to put an end to any doubt of his intentions. Tf it's talking 
straight you want, I'll talk straight every time. You and me's pardners, 
and you can't help yourself. I'm a bad egg, I am, and I'm worse when I 
get riled. Everybody knows I'm bad, and everybody knows you've come 
away with me, and we've took the road together. You can't never hold 
your head up after this — d'ye see? So what's the use of kicking? What- 
ever I say '11 be believed, and I'll say whatever suits me. Now you just 
climb along till I say stop.' ... At the same instant a farm gate opened 
close beside them, and Christmas stepped through it and upon the road. 
Following an impulse, he had reached the scene quickly by a short cut 
across the fields. His stout staff was grasped by its middle in his muscular 
right hand. At sight of him the bully shrank back a few steps. 

"'Walk where you please,' said Christmas, 'but come within reach of 
this stick and I'll beat you like a carpet. Now the young lady and I will 
be going along.' " 

Christmas was a gray-bearded, Rip Van Winkle sort of chap, rather 
weak in his old legs, but stout of arm and heart. He was beloved by all 
the children in the village, and was never happier than when he had them 
gathered around him to listen to his wonderful stories about impossible 
kittens and frogs and toads and dogs. And when he saw Laura in danger 
— she was hardly beyond the age of childhood — he came to the rescue like 
a chivalrous knight-errant of old. 



62 



Virginia Reeves and the Pickets 



IT was "Between the Lines at Stone River," during the War of the 
Rebellion, that the scene occurred, as described by Mr. F. A. Mitchell, 
which is pictured here. There is something very inspiring in the 
appearance of a manly fellow, in uniform, who takes his life in his hands 
to uphold the honor of his country's flag, and the heart of the impression- 
able little maiden invariably goes out to him. It was always thus, for, 

" The form of Hercules affects the sylph, 
And hands of snow in palms of russet lie." 

Our Yankee officer accosts the Confederate maiden in this wise: 
"'How did you get through the Confederate lines?' 
'"The officer of the picket let me come. His regiment was made up 
from about here. They all know me. I told them my mother was very ill.' 
'"And they let you take the risk?' 

'"They tried to dissuade me, but you see I had to come. The 
medicine was needed. The doctor said it was mamma's only hope. I 
must take it home at once.'" 

Time passed. There was some heavy fighting, and with the chang- 
ing vicissitudes of war our officer again found himself in the neighborhood 
of the Reeves farm, and his thoughts turned, not for the first time, on the 
girlish figure that risked death in discharge of its filial duty. 

"T know you are^ very young, but you need not fear that I will hold 
you to your promise if you wish to be released.' 

"She put her thin arms around my neck and looked up at me with 
eyes which bespoke the fulness of her heart. T will never wish to be 
released.'" 

And so in those early days two hearts were united as the two sections 
have since become, with the old flag waving over us all. 



6 4 



Deer- Stalking 



DEER-STALKING in the Scotch Highlands is a quality of sport 
that it is best not to indulge in without due deliberation and 
preparation. The old Highlanders, of course, make nothing of it 
in any season. We recall a story of a party of these hardy Scots, who, in 
pursuit of the deer, were overtaken by night and a heavy snow-storm, which 
compelled them to halt where they were, on the hills. One of the young- 
sters, thinking to make himself comfortable, rolled up a great snowball to 
serve him as a pillow, but he was deprived of this luxury by his old papa 
kicking it from under his head, at the same time berating him for his 
effeminacy. It was possibly this same old man who objected to having a 
stove put into the kirk to warm it in the severe winter weather, claiming 
that, if they could have sermons as hot and strong as those which he 
listened to in his youth, there would be no need to waste coal on the 
Sabbath. 

In " Briseis " Mr. William Black thus describes the experience of a city 
gentleman who was ambitious to possess a pair of antlers : 

" First they went down these steep and ragged slopes until they reached 
the glen below ; then they got into a winding channel filled with oozy peat- 
water, and that they followed for half a mile, sinking into the dark-brown 
mud at every step; then (after vigilant circumspection) they crossed an 
open piece of morass that was more of a quaking bog than anything else, 
with patches of bright green that spoke of holes ready to engulf them ; and 
at last they found comparative shelter in a rocky ravine, up which they pain- 
fully toiled. By this time the spick-and-span attire with which monseigneur 
had started away in the morning was in a deplorable condition, and he him- 
self was little better. He was black up to the thighs ; his face was bespat- 
tered (for he had stumbled once or twice over stumps and had come down 
heavily) ; his hair was matted and streaming with perspiration ; his long 
mustache was now all loose and ragged and forlorn." 

Verily, except for those who were raised on a diet of oatmeal and 
" whusky," we can fancy that a well-groomed cob and Rotten Row would 
present more points for quiet enjoyment. 

66 



A Horse- Show Supper at the IValdorf 



THE vagaries of fashion are hard to understand. Time was when the 
leisure class of New York used to bend all its energies for display 
and magnificent toilets upon the " Charity Ball." With an alleged 
eleemosynary object in view, it was accustomed to assemble at the old 
Academy of Music, at Irving Place and Fourteenth Street — that is, the 
female portion of it did — in costumes that had taxed the inventive skill of 
Worth and other Parisian coittitrieres, to say nothing of the native talent, 
for months before the function. It was well worth the price of admission 
for the simple enjoyment of seeing the array of beauty and dress, though 
possibly not a single one in the multitude had the honor of being on your 
visiting-list. But it got to be an old story, and then came — the Horse 
Show. To the uninitiated this announcement carries no sense of fashion- 
able display with it, but lovely woman is equal to any occasion that affords 
an opportunity for showing her taste in the graceful adornment of her per- 
son, so at these gatherings we find as many notable costumes as at the other 
affair. The Show lasts only one week, but it draws together most of the 
presentable figures in New York and the neighborhood, partly to evidence 
their love for horses, largely to show their gowns. But the limitations of a 
box rather circumscribe the opportunity, which in part accounts for the need 
for supper after the Show. Then go to the Waldorf. Let your appetite 
wait while you feast your eyes on a collection of beauties unmatched in any 
gathering of the world. Each woman seems to have a distinct charm of 
her own, and each her captivating individuality, and you hear more horsy 
talk than you could gather at a score of agricultural fairs. And to-morrow — 
What next? 



68 



A London Bobby 



OUR picture of a London "bobby" has for its background a bit of 
old St. Paul's, that masterpiece of Sir Christopher Wren's, in the 
centre of the busiest spot on the globe. Here Ludgate Hill 
and Cannon Street meet, and the bustle and traffic of the town congest 
the neighborhood, impressing us with the commercial mightiness of our 
English cousins of to-day, whom we mentally contrast with their fore- 
fathers, who lived in a time when the whim of a tyrant was law and 
individual rights were unknown. And you are apt to remember what 
Macaulay says of the people when the Romans came: "They were little 
superior to the natives of the Sandwich Islands"; and under the Saxons: 
"They were still performing savage rites in the temples of Thor and 
Woden." But to-day London is the most intelligently governed city in 
the world, and the people are perhaps the most law- abiding to be found 
anywhere. Here the "bobby" stands as a representative of the majesty 
of the law, and is respected accordingly. He has only to raise his finger, 
and cabby and costermonger instantly obey the signal. He is very proud 
of his uniform and power, and is as exacting in the respect that is due to 
his cloth as he is in giving it to those who are above him in rank. He 
is said to be attentively gallant to the pretty housemaids and cooks on his 
beat, many of whom are certainly very inviting; but when duty calls he is 
then a part of the machinery of the government, and woe betide the trans- 
gressor. 



70 



sin slfternoon Spin on Riverside Drive 



WHEN completed, the Riverside Drive will be one of the most 
beautiful attractions of the metropolis. Commencing at Sev- 
enty-second Street, at a considerable elevation above the Hud- 
son River, it runs north for half a mile or more, when it slopes gradually 
to the river level at Eighty-sixth Street, and then rises in a series of grace- 
ful undulations until it reaches Grant's Tomb at One Hundred and Twenty- 
second Street, extending about a quarter of a mile beyond. The roadway 
for carriages and bicycles is the finest possible, and on the river side is a 
foot-path running the whole length, while here and there, between it and 
the driveway, are stretches of bridle-paths, where the soft earth invites a 
brisk gallop. A massive wall runs the length of the Drive, with openings 
at intervals, and steps leading down to the river level, which, at certain 
points, is more than a hundred feet below. On the slopes, which are now 
being terraced, are some fine old trees, and scattered among them are 
benches for resting-places. The blemishes of the place are the freight 
tracks of the Hudson River Railroad, and one or two unsightly shops and 
warehouses, which are unkempt eyesores, on the river's edge. It is only 
a question of time when these things will be removed, and then, with a 
sea-wall and driveway along the river's bank, the beauty of the place will 
be increased tenfold. From the elevated portions of the Drive one has 
a prospect down the river, with the blue hills of Staten Island in the dis- 
tance, and across and north, as far as the eye can reach, one sees the 
beautiful Palisades and the moving panorama of the noble river's traffic. 
It is difficult to imagine a more picturesque three miles than we have 
here, and the idler may spend an enjoyable hour or two seated on one 
of the many benches lining the footway watching the stream of carriages 
with the gay occupants, the ever- merry bicyclers with their varied cos- 
tumes, and the jaunty equestrians that pass you in an endless stream. 



72 



B rise is and her Uncle 



A SINCERE love of nature betokens a gentle, peaceful spirit. What 
charming glimpses we get of the beauties of the woods as given 
us by such men as Thoreau in his descriptions of what he saw 
about Walden Pond! How carefully he noted every living thing, and 
how delightfully he puts us in touch with them ! Remember how sympa- 
thetically White of Selborne writes about the common barn-swallow. He 
makes it a very joy to listen to them. And, later, Lowell says : " My 
walk under the Pines would lose half its summer charm were I to miss 
that shy anchorite, the Wilson's thrush, nor hear in haying- time the 
metallic ring of his song." And even of those disreputable tramps, the 
cuckoos, he writes: "I would not, if I could, convert them from their 
pretty, pagan ways." 

Some such a man was the uncle of Briseis, who went with her bota- 
nizing over the hills in search of wild treasures. 

"Not too near — not too near!" exclaimed this small, nervous-looking 
•man, who nevertheless had apple-tinted cheeks and bright gray eyes. 
"Briseis, I tell you this is a day of days for me — a day of days indeed! 
You will remember it all the days of your life when you come to under- 
stand. Do you know what this is ?" 

She followed the direction of his finger, and saw on the ground in 
front of him some scattered patches of white waxen-looking flowers, which 
she thought might be one of the stitchworts or some such thing; for, 
notwithstanding her long spring, and summer, and autumn rambles with 
this devoted enthusiast, she had not picked up much botanical lore. 

"It is Silene alpestris!" he said, excitedly. "Don't you understand?" 



74 



The Old Guard's Ball 



one time the " Old Guard " was the crack military organization of 
the city of New York. It ranked somewhat as does now the 
First Corps of the "Boston Cadets," and its members were care- 
fully chosen to show off the handsome white uniforms and the enormous 
black shakoes which were so overpowering in their magnificence and 
such an unspeakable delight to the admiring crowd. As a show company, 
the Guard made a brave appearance, and there was, likely as not, some 
real good fighting stuff under all this tinsel and fine clothes. But what 
a contrast to the fighting garb of the "Rough Riders"! That will have 
its day, as did the Zouave uniform which was so dear to the French heart 
that the services of the recruiting sergeant were seldom needed; and dur- 
ing our Civil War it had a like magical effect. To-day the "Old Guard," 
like the "Ancient and Honorable Artillery" of Boston, while it keeps its 
organization, appears on parade only on some special occasions, and is not 
enrolled among the State militia. But each winter the corps gives a grand 
ball, and then the old-timers come to the front resplendent in gold lace 
and other military gewgaws. Recently the Metropolitan Opera- House 
was the scene of the festivities, and there was gathered a notable array of 
military men and others prominent in business and social life. While it 
can lay no claim to being a fashionable affair, it is one of the best-dressed 
and enjoyable balls given in the city. Inasmuch as there is much wealth 
among the habitues, we see many fine costumes and diamonds, and other 
jewelry galore. The entertainments are handled by men of large experi- 
ence and executive ability, and are quite remarkable for the smoothness 
with which the several features succeed each other and for the perfection 
of every detail. 




76 



The Guide's Mishap 



TO thoroughly enjoy travel one should start with a mind moderate- 
ly free from care, and with a bill of exchange of sufficient size to 
make the consideration of petty expenses unnecessary. He should 
also have a fairly definite idea of what he desires most to see, and a 
smattering of book knowledge of it. In "Prue and I," Mr. Curtis says: 
"So I begin to suspect a man must have Italy and Greece in his heart 
and mind if he would ever see them with his eyes." With this prepara- 
tion he has no need for a valet de place, except to look after the detail 
of luggage. And, as far as possible, one should dispense with the ser- 
vices of the custodians in the various show- places. Mr. William Winter 
was much distressed by the discourse of a Beef- Eater in the Tower of 
London, who harped upon "The ard fate of the Hurl of Hessex" when 
standing on the spot where the earl lost his life, and he says : " Very 
hard it was for the listener, as well as the language, to hear his name so 
persecuted." And we remember, at the conclusion of the tour of the 
rooms in Windsor Castle, when we came to the winding stair that led 
to the ground, how the attendant disturbed our historical reverence with, 
" And now, ladies and gentlemen, this is the hentrance hout." 

Mr. March, in Mr. Howells's "Their Silver Wedding Journey," se- 
cured the services of an ex-waiter, now the keeper of a small restaurant, 
to show him the galleries, and the incident is thus described : 

" In his zeal to do something he possessed himself of March's over- 
coat when they dismounted at the first gallery, and let fall from its 
pocket the prophylactic flask of brandy, which broke with a loud crash 
on the marble floor in the presence of several masterpieces, and perfumed 
the whole place. The masterpieces were some excellent works of Luke 
Kranach, who seemed the only German painter worth looking at when 
there were any Dutch or Italian painters near; but the travellers forgot 
the name and nature of the Kranachs, and remembered afterwards only 
the shattered fragments of the brandy -flask, just how it looked on the 
floor, and the fumes — how they smelt! — that rose from the ruin." 



78 



Kitty at the First Tee 



WHEN I discovered that I was in love with Kitty," said Jack, 
"I went to see Marian." Marian was an old flame of Jack's, 
and as the flame died out it left the glowing embers of 
friendship, so he naturally consulted her about Kitty, of whom it was 
said, "There was just a touch of the new woman in Kitty, a pinch of 
mannishness that meant ' Keep off the grass ' for any sentimental tres- 
passer." Now, Kitty was a crack golf -player, and, as Jack was not 
athletically inclined, Marian said, " There is one thing you will have to 
learn, or you won't stand a chance — golf." Jack knew nothing about 
golf, so to the game he straightway devoted himself, and soon after it 
came to pass that he was fortunate enough to be in a match with Kitty, 
whose appearance is thus described : 

"Nothing could be more fetching- looking than Kitty as she faced 
the globe in her golfing suit. She wore a crisp straw hat ribboned with 
the club colors, a buff waist with loose sleeves that rustled and crinkled 
in the breeze, a rough grass -cloth tie in a jaunty bow, a russet belt, a 
short whip -cord skirt faced with leather, Scotch gaiters, and pointed tan 
shoes." Surely nothing more desirable could be asked in a partner, and 
Jack played with a life object in view. It came Jack's turn to play, and 
he says: "I heard the click, I saw the ball vanish over the bevelled edge, 
and then I watched Kitty. She gave a little start, then there was a 
shout and a forward move of the onlookers, and then Kitty fairly flew 
down the hill towards me, and I felt her seize my hand and shake it as 
if she would wring it off." 

Of course, Mr. Kobbe's story could end in only one way, and this 
was the way: "No one was about the club-house. The caddies were 
lounging down by the ' Mews,' and the junior annex was deserted. There 
was no one to see us but the Sun, and he was, unlike myself, under a 
cloud. So I kissed Kitty." In this manner the ghost of " Colonel 
Bogie " was laid. 



80 



The Street -Crossing Sweeper 



A CROSSING sweeper in London has his stand, which is as much 
his own as if he had a fee-simple to the flagging and the mud 
thereon. One would no sooner think of trenching on his preserve 
than on a wooded park stocked with pheasants and other delectable things. 
He exercises an absolute squatter sovereignty over his particular bit of 
street, and his ownership is respected by others of his guild. He is gen- 
erally one of the very poorest of the poor of London, although recently, we 
believe, a member of the nobility, with a bar- sinister on his escutcheon, per- 
haps, has joined the ranks. In all weathers he plies his trade, and picks 
up such poor crumbs as just keep his body and soul together. In a country 
where one-half of the people give and the other half accept fees, the sweeper 
is pretty sure of getting a farthing from the average man or woman who 
has occasion to use his crossing. And what he gets he looks upon as his 
rightful wage, for Mr. Ralph says: "No one who does anything for gain 
in England is a vagrant in the eyes of the law, its executors, or the people 
at large." 

In "Bleak House," Dickens draws a pathetic picture of a little sweeper- 
waif who was befriended by a stranger who lived in old Krook's house, and, 
dying, was buried in one of the gloomy graveyards of the city. Jo, of 
Tom-all-Alone's, goes at night to the cemetery, and, grasping the iron bars 
of the gate, looks in to where his friend lies buried, and then, to show his 
gratitude, he sweeps the steps of the archway clean, looks in again, and, 
muttering "He wos wery good to me, he wos," fades away into the night. 



82 



Ruth, Teddy, and the Thankee Sentinel 

DURING the War of the Rebellion, down in that section of the 
country where was drawn the imaginary Mason and Dixon's 
line, the Confederates and the Federals were facing each other 
in the neighborhood of a plantation the owner of which was in the 
Southern army; and, as Christmas was approaching, the old servant on 
the place was distressed because little Ruth and Teddy would probably 
have no presents ; so, when she was putting them to bed, she stopped 
their chatter about Christmas and Santa Claus with : 

" ' What you-all talkin' 'bout ? How you think Santa Claus gwine 
get t'rough dem Yankee lines ? Spec's dey gwine catch him an' kill 
him, suah !' and she took the light and hurried away to escape the 
questions. 

" Then Ruth had an inspiration. ' Brother, brother, wake up ! We 
have got to go to the Yankee captain and beg him not to hurt Santa 
Claus.' So off they started, and soon came upon the picket, who greeted 
them with : ' Well, my hearties, what brings you here ?' 

" ' Please, we want to see the captain,' gasped Teddy. They saw the 
captain. 'The captain had a cold,' said Ruth, telling about it after- 
wards ; ' he coughed and wiped his eyes, and said to us : " You have 
saved Santa Claus, and all the little children in the world will be grate- 
ful to you. But we are not going to kill him. . . . Trot along home 
now. Your soldier friend is going with you to take you safely back.'" 

" A couple of weeks later, on the day before Christmas, the tall 
soldier came to the house again. He was driving, and from his cart 
he took a large box. On the cover was written, ' Santa Claus is in a 
great hurry this year, so he left this with the Yankee captain, and asked 
him to forward it to Ruth and Teddy.' " That's " How Santa Claus 
was Saved," according to Mary T. Van Denburgh, and, from all indica- 
tions, the past Christmas he was in very good condition on both sides 
of the line. 



8 4 



The First Day Out 



auspicious start on a European trip is calculated to put the 
mind in condition to make light of any discomforts that may 
possibly follow. Given a bright spring or autumn day for sail- 
ing, and one leaves behind him, without regret, the unsightly sky-scrapers 
of New York in the contemplation of the surroundings of one of the 
most beautiful bays in the world. Passing Governor's Island on the 
left, with its old stone fort and the picturesque quarters of the soldiers, 
you soon reach Bay Ridge, with its many residences nestled among the 
trees, and forts Hamilton and Lafayette, with forts Wadsworth and 
Tompkins on the right, on the slopes of the hills of Staten Island. 
Speeding through the Narrows, you enter the lower bay, with Hoffman 
and Swinburne islands, and Passaic Bay beyond. If the wind be fair, 
you meet here countless pleasure boats with their white wings spread 
to the favoring breeze, and the saucy little steam -yachts dashing over 
the waves. Beyond Coney Island Point, on the east, you see the Beach 
hotels. Just here the course of the ocean greyhound is straight for 
Shrewsbury Inlet, but when near the Highlands a sharp turn to the left 
brings you to Sandy Hook and its frowning water- batteries, with the 
twin lights of the Highlands of Navesink behind you, and before you 
the open Atlantic. 

"Long Island was now a low, yellow line on the left. Some fishing- 
boats flickered off shore; they met a few sail, and left more behind; but 
already, and so near one of the greatest ports of the world, the spacious 
solitude of the ocean was beginning. There was no swell ; the sea lay 
quite flat, with a fine mesh of wrinkles on its surface, and the sun 
flamed upon it from a sky without a cloud." 

Such was the auspicious starting of Mr. and Mrs. March in Mr. W. 
D. Howells's story entitled "Their Silver Wedding Journey." 




86 




X 



A Plantation Christmas "'Fore de IVar" 



ONE of the happiest features of the old plantation life was the 
affection shown by the slaves towards such masters as were 
worthy of it, and this feeling was often reciprocated. 
Take as an example the colored boy who was appointed body ser- 
vant to the young master, whose sole duty it was to wait upon and 
watch over his charge. How proud he was to attend him on his ram- 
bles, to teach him what he knew of wood -craft, and to fish and shoot 
and swim! To him the world held only one perfect being. In absolute, 
devoted faithfulness there was nothing comparable to it. Other boys 
there might be, but at best they were "pore white trash" when little 
massa was around. 

In "Huckleberry Finn" Mark Twain tells the story of how Huck 
and Tom Sawyer assisted a runaway slave to escape. They dug the 
darky out of his prison — they preferred that way to pulling the padlock 
from the door, it was more romantic — and on their way to the river one 
of the boys was shot in the leg by the pursuers. After getting on their 
raft and crossing the river, that wounded leg made it impossible for the 
boy to travel, so he advises Jim to leave him to his fate and run for 
freedom, and Jim replies: "Well, den, dis is de way it look to me, Huck. 
Ef it wuz him dat 'uz bein' sot free, en one er de boys wuz to get shot, 
would he say, ' Go on en save me, nemmine 'bout a doctor f'r to save 
dis one?' Is dat like Mars Tom Sawyer? Would he say dat? You 
bet he wouldn't! IVeJI, den, is Jim gwyne to say it? No, sah — I doan' 
budge a step out'n dis place 'dout a doctor ; not if it's forty year !" 

Our picture shows the Christmas-morning visit of old "Uncle" and 
"Auntie" to the young master and his wife, who come to the porch to 
receive their greetings. These old darkies were possibly born on the 
plantation, which bounded the world so far as they knew it, and they 
brought their words of seasonable cheer, that, homely as they might be as 
a Christmas present, had the charm of being tied up, as it were, with the 
strings of their hearts. It was surely a precious offering to the young 
master and mistress, as there was nothing perfunctory about it, for the 
reason that it was the kind of gift that could not be bought in a depart- 
ment store. 

88 



Rupert and his Portrait 



MONG the ills which human flesh is heir to, cacoethes scribendi is one 



of the most irritating and troublesome to the average publisher. 



The unfledged youth of both sexes are often afflicted with this 
malady before they cut their wisdom teeth, and, with the assistance of pen, 
ink, and paper, spread the infliction broadcast. Narcissus-like, they fall in 
love with their own reflections, but the waters into which they gaze are not 
those of Hippocrene, the fountain of the Muses, but rather some babbling 
brook, shallow and noisy, the music of which is in accord with their jan- 
gling jingles. In the " Poet's Corner" of some country newspaper they first 
see the light of day; and as the weeks roll by their twaddle accumulates, 
and then they are inspired with the desire to see their rhymes between 
boards, and listed with such names as Shakespeare, Milton, Byron, and 
Longfellow, so they pack their verses off to some long-suffering publisher, 
indorsed, usually, by some local dignitary of about the same mental calibre 
as the writers. The professional reader, always seeking after budding tal- 
ent, looks over the stuff, at a stated charge, and renders his decision — " Rub- 
bish "; and so " another flower is born to blush unseen," and takes its place 
among the weeds. 

Rupert thought he was a poet, so he had his portrait painted. In our 
picture he seems not to be blessed with that grace of form which we look 
for in the gifted, chosen few ; he has not that " look of heaven upon his face 
which limners give to the beloved disciples"; but the artist has taken such 
liberties with the crude material as to evolve a fairly presentable result, as 
we see it upon the walls of the gallery. Mr. Brander Matthews says in his 
"At the Private View": " Rupert, arrayed in all his finery, could always be 
found in the neighborhood of his portrait." If we consider his limitations, 
we may come to look upon his weakness with Christian charity. 




90 



At the Flower- Show, Madison Square Garden 



IN the great hall of the Madison Square Garden one sees at different 
times a motley variety of entertainments. To-day it may be a Six- 
Days Walking-Match, or a bicycle contest; to-morrow, the clowns and 
the elephants and the peanuts and what not of the " Greatest Show on 
Earth " literally have the floor. In another interval we have two gentle- 
men, with more brawn than brains, hunting around in the most agile and 
industrious manner to locate the solar plexus, or some other vulnerable part 
of the human form divine, which, on being reached by a well-directed punch, 
reduces the recipient to the condition of the gentleman in Mr. Bret Harte's 
" Society on the Stanislaus," of whom it is said, after a little argument, 
" And the subsequent proceedings interested him no more." 
Following this al fresco affair we may have the annual French Ball, 
which can be characterized as another decidedly undress occasion, but it is 
loaded with style, and the jeunesse dore flock to it in crowds and see life, and 
things. 

But once a year the building really justifies its name of Garden, and 
that is when the Flower- Show is held. Contributors to this exhibition 
comprise not only the florists who supply the city with flowers the year 
round, but also the wealthy residents of the vicinity, whose conservatories 
are built on a grand scale, and from them come the most magnificent speci- 
mens of the floral kingdom, from the dainty orchid to the gorgeous, satisfying 
glory of the "American Beauty." Almost every known flowering plant finds 
its place here, from the scentless chrysanthemum to the delicious jacquemi- 
not — "a concentrated summer," as some one called it — that fills the air with 
its fragrance; while the gayly dressed ladies harmonize most fittingly with 
the color and the surroundings. 



92 



From the Land of the Chrysanthemums 



CENTRAL PARK is a great breathing-spot, now almost in the resi- 
dential centre of the city, of which New-Yorkers are justly proud. 
The work of Messrs. Vaux and Olmsted, to whom was intrusted 
the laying-out of the grounds, so happily supplemented the natural advan- 
tages that, while you feel their deft handiwork everywhere, Nature has not 
suffered the outrageous treatment that would have been her lot had the 
gentlemen who now divide their time between their corner saloons and the 
Aldermanic chamber been in authority at the time when the Park was laid 
out, though the progeny of these latter need constant watching to-day 
to prevent defacement of the grounds. While to the lower part has been 
given all the attention which the skilled training of these two landscape- 
gardeners could devise, in the northern section large tracts have been left 
in their natural wildness, only excrescences and blemishes having been 
removed. 

In the Park we see every nationality, every variety of man, from the 
cow-boy to the Parsee. In our picture we have two Japanese gentlemen 
sauntering down a path in their quiet, reserved, and dignified manner. 
What there is worthy in the surroundings is fully appreciated by the gen- 
tlemen from the land of the chrysanthemums, than whom, as Professor 
Morse says, there are none who revere Nature more, their homes being in a 
land of flowers, which, though mostly scentless, are so fine in form and color 
that they are universally used as decorations in the houses of even the very 
poorest. There they cultivate the chrysanthemum until, in the delicacy of 
color and graceful flow of its leaves, they produce a flower that it is hard to 
realize is a first-cousin to our field daisy. Even about the poorest houses 
in Japan one finds little garden patches that delight the eye, while in the 
grounds of the rich one sees every variety that nature and art can produce. 
In similar grounds in our own country,. Professor Morse says, in his 
"Japanese Homes and their Surroundings," we often find " cast-iron children 
standing in a cast-iron basin, holding over their heads a sheet-iron umbrella, 
from the point of which squirts a stream of water." 

94 



In the Smoking- Room 



MR. JOSEPH HATTON says, "If the Lacedaemonians invented 
clubs, the modern English may take the credit of having per- 
fected them." In the Lacedaemonian clubs "it was customary, 
on the arrival of members, for the oldest among them to stand at the 
portal and warn his brethren that not a word said within the precincts 
must be repeated outside." And among all good clubmen of to-day this 
is an unwritten law, and woe betide him who breaks it. This being the 
case, the modern club, in the smoking-room, gives one a freedom in the 
interchange of ideas that makes it one of the charms of the institution, 
as one usually finds there a collection of fellows who are worth listen- 
ing to. It was in the smoking-room that a well-known litterateur was 
asked by a friend whom he had been dining — in a club that had in 
its membership prominent people from all the learned professions, and 
choice laymen also — "Of what class of men was the club composed?" 
and the reply was, "All the rag- tag and bobtail of the best in New 
York." And the talk of the evening justified the characterization. But 
certain it is that, ever since Sir Walter Raleigh introduced tobacco into 
England, from whence it spread over the civilized world, and into some 
sections on the edge of it, it has been an important factor in sociability 
among men ; and in many of the Latin countries its use is very general 
among women also ; and if we can rely upon the statements of the daily 
press, many of the Anglo-Saxon maidens toy with, if they do not relaly 
enjoy, the fragrant weed. For years the old crones in the Emerald Isle 
have used the " dudeen," and snuff-taking in other countries was at one 
time very general. It is curious to note that the purists claim that no 
smoker can tell, with his eyes shut, whether or not his cigar is alight, 
and in the same breath they assert that it is death and destruction to 
both mind and body. Meanwhile, some of the brightest talk to be met 
with anywhere may be found in the smoking-rooms of the clubs, and, if 
the inevitable element of destruction is there, the fellows are certainly 
going out in a blaze of glory. 



9 6 



The Toilet 



HERE seems to be an instinct in the well-ordered woman to be 



always at her best, to arrange and conserve such pleasing features 



as were born to her, or to simulate by taste and judgment such 
attributes as compel attention and even homage. It is her nature to 
expect admiration, within proper bounds, and the cunning ways in which 
she accents her good points are worthy of all praise. Though it is not 
given to all to be brilliantly clever, it is quite within the province of 
most to make themselves, by well-considered adornment, as pleasing to 
the eye as the loveliest flowers in the gardens. It has been ever thus 
since the time when Queen Esther, in her magnificence, appeared before 
King Solomon, whose glorious presence, according to Biblical tradition, 
was only discounted by the lilies of the field. Queen Esther probably 
did not suffer to the same degree by comparison. But perfect appreci- 
ation, we suppose, depends largely upon one's education and surround- 
ings. We have no doubt but that the " two English feet to the yard " 
depicted by Mr. Augustus Hoppin in his "Crossing the Atlantic" were 
as dear to the heart of some sturdy Briton as are the cramped and 
distorted pedal extremities of the Chinese belle to the almond-eyed 
wearer of the yellow jacket and the peacock's feather. Personally we 
should not look with much favor upon the South Sea Islander who 
wore rings in her nose or had great bones projecting through the lobes 
of her ears ; but to the dusky savage of her class Queen Esther or our 
modern belle " would not be in it." Nor are we quite contented with 
the vagaries of fashion in our own time. It is difficult to reconcile 
one's sense of proportion with the balloon-like crinoline or the skin-fit 
tailor-made gown which necessitates a hand always holding up the spinal 
vertebras. In " The Golden House " Mr. Charles Dudley Warner says 
of one of his characters: "Revolving these deep things in her mind, she 
went to her dressing-room and made an elaborate toilet for dinner. Yet 
it was elaborately simple. That sort needed more study than the other." 
Such a maiden has no need to " consider the lilies of the field." 




s4t the Private View 



A LOVE of form and color is happily given to most of us. It helps 
us in the adornment of our homes, and makes the various aspects 
of nature a delight to us. We all remember what Titbottom said 
in " Prue and I " : " Thank God ! I own the landscape. Bourne owns the 
dirt and fences ; I own the beauty that makes the landscape, or otherwise 
how could I own castles in Spain." And we have some such feeling at a 
Private View, where we have all of the freshness and bloom of the artist's 
creation. The pictures may belong to another, but the enjoyment of them 
is ours for the time being. 

At these views come all that are representative of the controlling 
influences of a great metropolis — artists, authors, and professional men of 
every grade drawn together with the common purpose of discussing the 
thoughtful work of another's brain. They gather in groups and contrast 
the present exhibition with that of the previous year, with what they saw 
in the last Salon or at the Royal Academy. We hear a most curious mixt- 
ure of praise and censure, generally good-natured and kindly, because one 
never knows how near the artist may be to his elbow. 

At one Private View we remember having heard dear old George 
Fuller asked if he did not think it a lack of judgment on the part of the 
committee in hanging a certain picture, and he replied — he was never known 
to say an ill word of any of his fellows — " Not uniform in quality, perhaps, 
but there is a bit of brown in that background that reminds me of Rem- 
brandt." At another Private View of old masters, some years ago, two 
gentlemen, who had done the galleries of Europe, were discussing the 
authenticity of some of the canvases. They had backed their judgments 
by a bet of a basket of champagne, and, seeing Mr. George H. Boughton, 
the artist, approaching, agreed to leave the decision to him. "Undoubt- 
edly originals," said Boughton; "they are too damned bad to be copies. 
Anybody copying an old master would show some sense in his selection." 



IOO 



^4fter the Matinee 



A MATINEE at the opera-house or a theatre seems to have a dis- 
tinctive character of its own. This is in part accounted for by 
the fact that ladies can go unattended — often in parties — and so 
the affair partakes somewhat of the nature of a social function, which 
is shared to a degree by the artists on the stage, who, while they do 
not relax in the earnestness of their personations, unconsciously feel the 
good-natured influence of the audience, and oftentimes do their best 
work in the way of ease and spontaneity, the friendliness of the house 
establishing almost confidential relations with the boards. 

Any one who has attended a matinee at the opera when Calve', 
Eames, or the De Reszkes were in the bill, must have noticed the rap- 
port between the stage and the house, and felt the sort of five-o'clock- 
tea character of the entertainment, in which the performers apparently 
shared the enjoyment of the listeners, while sacrificing no artistic points. 
The same was true not long ago at Daly's, when John Drew, Ada Rehan, 
Mrs. Gilbert, and Lewis were in the cast. Then the "matinee girl" was 
in her element, and bubbled over with a pleasurable excitement that was 
quite infectious, even to a hardened theatre-goer. 

These daylight performances are largely patronized by the suburban 
residents who have urban tastes and cultivation, and bring with them a 
freshness and a keen appreciation that the satiated city folk sometimes 
lack. And when the play is over, and the crowds stream forth into the 
open air, you can almost read on the faces of the people the character 
of the entertainment they have witnessed, and the gayety and brightness 
of their looks and talk have an appreciable effect upon the passer-by 
who may have been struggling with situations into which mirth did 
not enter. 



102 



Art Students 

« 

nearly all of the private views of pictures in the galleries the young 
art student is very much in evidence. 

Away back in the thirteenth century was born in Italy a shep- 
herd's son. This boy, Giotto by name, became the most famous painter of 
his time, and as he is credited with being the author of the injudicious state- 
ment that " any one who can learn to write can learn to draw," we are 
inclined to think that he is responsible for much that is bad in art from his 
day to ours, because we are all so prone to hug the sweet delusion to our 
souls that possibly there may be in us that which in time will compel the 
admiration of the world, forgetting how slim our chances are when we 
remember that, in any decade, the masters can be counted on the fingers 
of one hand. Think of the endowments of such men as Michael Angelo 
and Leonardo da Vinci, who were painters, architects, sculptors, engineers, 
musicians, poets — there was no one of the cultured arts in which they did 
not excel — and then contrast them with the average art student, who has 
little capacity beyond the needs of a tin-shop. 

At a recent exhibition of the Academy, of Design in New York the 
writer overheard a couple of these students discussing the work of a really 
clever man. One thought he saw something in the picture worthy of 
commendation, but the other sharply criticised the motive of the painter. 
" We do not want," said he, " a canvas that is simply pleasing to the eye. 
It must have an uplifting quality. It is our mission in life to educate the 
public taste so that it may come to fully appreciate all that is inspiring and 
ennobling in our work, and so make life more beautiful, more worth the 
living." I very much fear that the future of these two youths is behind a 
bargain-counter. As I left them I recalled the last part of an epitaph on an 
old gravestone — "for she painted in water- colors, and of such is the 
Kingdom of Heaven." 




104 



Jack and Mr. Fletcher 



ACK DELANCY had a competence which was largely invested in 



stocks, the value of which depended mainly upon the manipula- 



tions of the Wall Street magnates, of many of whom it is said 
that their word was better than their bond ; but, when their personal 
interests were concerned, they spared neither friend nor foe. With one 
of these millionaires Jack formed a business connection, and for a time 
every investment prospered, just how or by what means Jack did not 
see fit to concern himself ; perhaps it would have mattered little if he 
had, as by temperament and training he was not fitted for business. 
It was sufficient for him that the money was rolling in. So he bought 
a steam-yacht, and burned the candle at both ends ; then came a Wall 
Street panic, and ruin. As Jack had no recuperative resources, he 
seemed likely to remain among the debris. Months rolled by, and in 
the darkest hour he received an invitation to call from Mr. Fletcher, a 
prosperous cordage merchant. 

Mr. Fletcher received him in a little dim back office, with a cordial 
shake of the hand, and gave him a chair. " Our fall trade is just start- 
ing up," he said, " and it keeps us all pretty busy. . . . Are you open to 
an offer?" 

" I am open to almost anything," Jack answered, with a puzzled 

look. 

" Well, I want a confidential clerk — that's it. . . . You are just the 



" I can be confidential," Jack rejoined, with the old smile on his face 
that had so long been a stranger to it ; " but I don't know that I can 
be a clerk!" 

But Jack went into the " string business," as he called it, and soon 
after started for the country home of his wife, from whom he had long 
been separated, to carry the good news to her. As he approached the 
cottage he found it literally bathed in sunlight, and he was led to ex- 
claim, "It is 'The Golden House'!" And in the arms of his wife he 
looked hopefully towards the future, and the past was blotted out forever. 




man. 



Mother and Child 



HERE is nothing more beautiful than the sight of a mother 



holding her child. The tenderness and affection in every look 



and movement encompasses all there is in life for the moment. 
It matters not how fair or ill-favored the child may be, the maternal 
instinct blots out all physical shortcomings. It was so when the star 
hung over Bethlehem guiding the wise men ; it is equally so now in 
the poorest tenement districts, where the surroundings may not be as 
choice as those in the manger on that memorable night. 

The completeness with which the little one dominates the situation 
is well expressed by Tennyson in " Locksley Hall": 

" Nay, but nature brings thee solace ; for a tender voice will cry, 



Another poet, of rather smaller caliber, says: "A babe in a house is 
a well-spring of pleasure," and of such a well-spring Mr. Warner writes 
in "The Golden House": 

"He was an increasing wonder — new every morning and exciting 
every evening. He was the centre of the world of solicitude and adora- 
tion. It would be scarcely too much to say that his coming into the 
world promised a new era, and his traits, his likes and dislikes, set new 
standards in his court. If he had apprehended his position his vanity 
would have outgrown his curiosity about the world, but he displayed no 
more consciousness of his royalty than a kicking Infanta of Spain. 
This was greatly to his credit in the opinion of the nurse, who devoted 
herself to the baby with that enthusiasm of women for infants which, 
fortunately, never fails, and won the heart of Edith by her worship. 
And how much they found to say about that marvel ! To hear from 
the nurse over and over again what the baby had done and not done, 
in a given hour, was to Edith like a fresh chapter out of an exciting 
novel." 




'Tis a purer life than thine; a lip to drain thy trouble dry. 



1 08 



Youth and Age 



THE two extremes of life are interesting, the one for the brilliant 
promise, the other for the successful fulfilment. Some of our 
readers have realized the fruition of their hopes, and others are 
in the enjoyment of that supreme content that comes from the appre- 
ciation of the thoughtful training that had been given them. It is a 
great delight to listen to the words of one who sees the blissful results 
of unremitting care in the forming of the characters of the cherished 
ones, and it is equally delightful to see the recognition that the well- 
ordered person most lovingly accords to his "guide, philosopher, and 
friend." If "age is a matter of feeling and not of years," it accounts 
in part for the charm which some men, and particularly some women, 
carry with them into their declining days. Take a well-favored woman, 
with a broad, receptive mind, and she is ever young. Around her gather 
not only the youth of her own sex, but also those of the other, who, 
when they meet her, feel the broad humanity of her nature and lean to 
her for guidance. We can easily recall one stately old lady who had lived 
a life of happy experiences, and naturally drew about her all the young 
people of her acquaintance who were doubtful concerning their hopes 
and aspirations. With no possible jealousies, she was able to enter into 
all the vague details of a budding life, of a character such as she had 
lived and enjoyed, and most tenderly acted as pilot to the venturesome 
young aspirants, who were unconscious of the shoals surrounding them, 
which might be safely passed if only the warning beacons were atten- 
tively watched. In every company she was one centre of attraction, and 
no young belle was more carefully considered. 

And so we say that one of the most delightful personalities to be 
met with is one that has grown old gracefully, and equally delightful 
it is to see in the young the ability to profit by what good -fortune has 
thrown in their way. 



I 10 



Bayou Teche 

IN those parts of our country where nature has tenderly laid its 
hand, the struggle for existence is reduced to its minimum. In 
the North the soil oftentimes yields results grudgingly to the most 
earnest endeavors, except in the virgin quarters of the West, which seem 
to have a quality that magnificent returns do not impoverish, and with 
the changes of climate there is nurtured a sturdy vitality in the people 
that enables them to thrive, indifferent to the extremes of heat and cold. 
But in the South the land is veritably one that, if you tickle it with a 
hoe it laughs with a harvest, as some one said about another land, and 
the simple wants of the average man are satisfied. 

It was into the Bayou Teche that Evangeline wandered in search 
of her lost love, Gabriel, and Longfellow thus speaks of it : 

" Beautiful the land, with its prairies and forests and fruit trees ; 
Under the feet a garden of flowers, and the bluest of heavens 
Bending above, and resting its dome on the walls of the forest. 
They who have dwelt there have named it the Eden of Louisiana." 

In this region is the paradise of the colored man and some of his 
white brethren. But little effort is required to support life, which, such 
as it is, they accept contentedly, at least, and no more quarrel with their 
surroundings than they do when the sun goes under a cloud — it is so 
ordained. They seem to be without personal ambition or the greed of 
gain. They are quite unlike some of our fellow- citizens here at the 
North, of one of whom, from the Emerald Isle, it is reported that he 
said on landing, when asking the time from his brother Mike, who gave 
it to him from a " Waterbury " : "Is it er watch yer carryin'? Be gob, 
before I'm here a munt I'll be carryin' er clock!" But our colored 
friends will sit all day on the Teche and angle for a possible catfish 
and dream their lives away. 



112 



At the Races 



A LOVE of sport is inherent in the breasts of all mankind, civil- 
ized and savage. And when is added to it skill and daring, 
it always draws crowds. At the earliest age of children the 
simplest games soon give place to " dares " and " stunts," and the 
cleverest, hardiest youngster at school at once becomes the " cock of 
the walk" — the admiration of his school-mates. This feeling grows with 
our years, and when manhood is reached our favorite is still at the fore 
in steeple- chasing, polo, golf, and yachting. And not infrequently we 
find the gentler sex easily holding its own in rough cross-country rid- 
ing and other sports calling for a cool head and courage. 

In England, "Derby Day" has long been a holiday for rich and 
poor, and the handsomest four-in-hand shares the road with "'Arry" and 
his donkey-cart. So, also, in Paris, the "Grand Prix" brings together the 
most exclusive residents of St. Germain with the blue blouses of Rue 
St. Antoine and Montmartre. And at our own " Suburban " one sees a 
notable gathering of men and women, all on pleasure bent, that leads 
one to think that the metropolis is largely composed of the leisure class. 
Around the grand -stand, and in the boxes, the gallants pay visits and 
whisper soft nothings, which are the confectionery of life offered to kin- 
dred sweets. But w r atch the crowd when the favorite horses are on 
the homestretch. Notice the face of that delicate little maiden, see how 
the color comes and goes, and how she clutches her parasol with a 
nervous tension that makes the mass of silk and lace quiver like a 
thing of life ! 

Can anything be more thrilling than the description of the chariot- 
race in "Ben-Hur"? Nobody with a drop of sporting blood in his 
veins can read the ending of that struggle without a tingling at his 
finger-ends. 

Well, we fancy that human nature is pretty much the same to-day 
as it was in the time of the Romans — gracefully refined, maybe. 



114 



In the Sear and Fellow Leaf 

IN most old persons who have led a peaceful existence there is a 
charm of manner and the enjoyment of a delightful retrospect that 
rounds out to complete satisfaction the declining days of a well- 
considered life. Of course, there are lost hopes and aspirations unreal- 
ized, but our friends have come to know that there is a silver lining to 
every cloud, and fully appreciate that what Longfellow says — 

" Thy fate is the common fate of all, 
Into each life some rain must fall, 

Some days must be dark and dreary " — 

is quite true of every life; but they have stored up a quantity of human 
sunshine that brightens every moment of the darkest days, and blessed 
are those who come under their influence. Very touchingly does Oliver 
Wendell Holmes sing of old age in his "Last Leaf": 

" And if I should live to be 
The last leaf upon the tree 

In the spring, 
Let them smile as I do now 
At the old forsaken bough 
Where I cling." 

Spring, of course, has the charm of ineffable freshness and bloom, 
but there is something to be said of the satisfying color of the autumn 
of a life that takes on the glorious tints that come as a fitting ending 
of a most bounteous fulness. 



1 16 



On page 17 we gave a picture of the interior of Mr. 
Smedley's country studio. On the opposite page is a view 
of the exterior. The building is in Lawrence Park, Bronx- 
ville, one of the most beautiful of the outlying districts of 
Greater New York, and is in the immediate neighborhood 
of the Zoological Gardens, and the charming, picturesque 
Bronx River, so dear to the artistic temperament. 



GETTY RESEARCH INSTITUTE